Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

F ieran pushed to his feet, flexing his fingers as he wished he had his own practice swords for this fight. He'd left those back at Treehaven when he joined the army.

Pip lightly punched his arm. "You can take him."

On his other side, Merrik nudged his arm with less force than Pip had. "Do not let him rile you. If you keep your head and actually focus on the fight, you can win."

"Do you think so?" Fieran rolled his shoulders. He couldn't delay long, otherwise the nearby troll warriors would drag him to the arena, thinking him reluctant to fight. "I've never seen Lt. Rothilion fight."

"Nor have I." Merrik's mouth tipped in a hint of a smile. "But you have been trained by Uncle Farrendel, the best swordmaster in all of Tarenhiel."

"And Dacha always kicks my butt and makes me look like a toddler waving my sword around." Fieran grimaced as he faced the arena, where Lt. Rothilion was already inspecting the rack to pick out his blunted weapons for the bout .

"Because you do not focus." Merrik lifted his eyebrows.

"I think it's more that Dacha is the great warrior Laesornysh. No one has a chance against him." Fieran shared one last look with Merrik and Pip. Well, he'd delayed enough. Time to face the fight and hope he didn't disgrace himself and his Dacha's training.

After working his way down the stands and into the arena, Fieran went straight to the weapons rack, sorting through it until he found a matched set of slim swords. They were more clunky than the finely crafted dwarven blades he had back home, but they would have to do.

Lt. Rothilion held a leaf-shaped shield in the style the elven warriors had carried generations ago along with a slim sword that was heavier and longer than Fieran's two blades.

That would give Lt. Rothilion a slightly longer reach, and that shield would be just as much a weapon as the sword.

Fieran wasn't as well-versed in fighting someone with a sword and shield combination instead of two swords. Though he had practiced occasionally with Uncle Julien, who fought in that style.

The troll warrior overseeing the fights glanced between them. "Are you satisfied with your weapons?"

"Yes, these are satisfactory." Lt. Rothilion hefted the sword, as if testing its weight.

"They're fine." Fieran experimented with a fighting stance. His hard-soled army boots weren't the soft, flexible boots he was used to fighting in, nor did these swords feel right in his hands.

Hopefully Lt. Rothilion felt as off with his borrowed weapons as Fieran did.

The troll warrior stepped aside as two others pushed the weapons racks through a small door in the side of the arena, getting them out of the way. As soon as the door was shut, the troll warrior held up his hand.

Fieran tensed and focused on Lt. Rothilion, sinking into the familiar sword stance he'd been taught when he was barely big enough to hold the wooden sword his dacha had given him.

Across from him, Lt. Rothilion mirrored his stance, though with a sword and shield instead of two swords.

The troll warrior let his hand fall, signaling the beginning of the fight.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to circle for a few minutes, testing each other's guard and movements.

But Fieran wasn't the type to fight on the defensive.

He leapt forward, stabbing with his upper sword and going low with the other. Lt. Rothilion blocked both strikes easily, but he'd been forced to drop his shield slightly to block the lower blow. Fieran curved his upper strike into a swing, disengaging from Lt. Rothilion's sword to take a swing at his head.

Lt. Rothilion ducked as he danced backward, trying to put space between him and Fieran so that he could make better use of his shield and sword.

The elf lieutenant was fast, but he wasn't as fast or as light on his feet as Dacha. This might be easier than Fieran thought.

Lt. Rothilion sprang forward, smashing his shield into Fieran so hard and quickly that Fieran nearly toppled over. He stumbled backwards, even as he barely got his sword up in time to block a downward chop aimed at his head.

All right, not so easy. This wasn't the time for daydreaming or getting cocky.

He couldn't lose this fight. Not only would Lt. Rothilion never let him hear the end of it, but his dacha's honor was at stake. Fieran might be willing to take the harassment, but he wouldn't let Lt. Rothilion besmirch Dacha's name…again.

Focus, that was what Merrik had told him to do. How many times had Dacha told him that same thing during morning practices?

Fieran let a hint of his magic flood his veins, though he didn't release it. These fighting bouts were to be fought without magic. That was the rule.

But there was nothing in the rules against letting his magic fuel him.

With his magic coursing through his body, Fieran threw himself into an attack. He dodged Lt. Rothilion's sword, one of his own swords grazing Lt. Rothilion's cheek. The blade was too dull to do anything but skim the lieutenant's cheek and tweak a section of his hair out of the way.

But the lieutenant would have felt the cold kiss of steel, and nothing would incite his wrath more than the affront to his long warrior hair.

With fury blazing in his eyes, Lt. Rothilion surged forward, swinging his sword with an abandon that wasn't quite sloppy but wasn't fully controlled either.

Fieran matched him blow for blow, his magic surging through him with a fire that blurred his swords and burned through his blood in a way he'd rarely felt, even in his practices with Dacha.

Perhaps Fieran had never wanted to win one of those fights as he wanted to win this one.

Lt. Rothilion bashed his shield toward Fieran, trying to dart in with his sword. But Fieran was faster, parrying each strike or dancing away from it.

Fieran leapt back a few steps. Time to finish this.

With something almost like a growl, Lt. Rothilion hurled himself forward, and Fieran matched the movement. Instead of taking the lieutenant's shield with his sword, Fieran leapt and planted a foot on the shield, using the lieutenant's own momentum to give him an extra boost into the air.

Fieran wasn't quite as agile in the air as his dacha, but he still spun, kicking Lt. Rothilion's sword out of his hand. As Lt. Rothilion stumbled, Fieran came down on the lieutenant's back, taking him to the ground.

Lt. Rothilion grunted as his chin smacked into the sand, sticking out his arm to keep from taking the edge of his shield across his face. But the edge of the shield struck the ground instead, and Fieran might have heard something pop in the lieutenant's shoulder. Lt. Rothilion gave a louder grunt edged with pain.

Fieran pressed the edge of one of his swords to Lt. Rothilion's neck. "Do you yield?"

"I yield." Lt. Rothilion's voice was strained, but he otherwise did not make any other sound of pain.

Fieran stepped off Lt. Rothilion's back, finally letting his magic settle deep in his chest again.

Lt. Rothilion climbed to his feet, his shield arm hanging awkwardly at his side. He used his good arm to slide the shield free before dropping it on the ground. The lieutenant halted next to Fieran, the anger replaced with his cold arrogance once again. "At least your damasha taught you well."

It should have been a compliment—perhaps even respectful with the more formal elvish word for father— but something in Lt. Rothilion's tone still held a hint of insult.

Fieran just grinned back, though the expression lacked its usual warmth. "He is Laesornysh."

As Lt. Rothilion stalked toward the stairs that would take him to Aunt Melantha for healing, the two troll attendants brought out the weapons racks again and retrieved Lt. Rothilion's sword and shield .

The troll warrior approached Fieran. "Do you wish to issue a challenge of your own?"

With his magic still burning hot within him despite the magic practice with Pip earlier in the day and the fight with Lt. Rothilion, Fieran itched for another fight. But who would he want to challenge? He'd already fought the only person he actually wanted to beat up.

As his gaze swept over the benches, his gaze flicked from Pip, who was grinning and clapping, to Merrik, who was smiling, to the rest of the flyboys. Stickyfingers, Lije, and Pretty Face were all standing and cheering for him.

Only Tiny seemed less than enthusiastic. Not that he seemed disappointed in Fieran. More his gaze was darting to where a row of other trolls sat, the ones who had hassled Tiny earlier.

Well, Fieran might not want to fight anyone else, but Tiny had a few scores to settle.

"Yes, I'd like to issue another challenge. But I'd like it to be a group fight." Fieran adjusted his grip on the swords.

The troll warrior raised his voice, making the announcement of a challenge and a group fight.

Merrik's brow scrunched as he began to climb to his feet.

As much as Fieran would love to fight with Merrik at his side, Fieran swung his gaze farther down the bench. "My first ally is Donkyn Sairdror."

Tiny's jaw dropped. It took him a rather long moment to finally push his way to his feet and make his way down the stands. Once he halted at Fieran's side, he peered up at him. "What are you doing? I'm no warrior. I passed the army's hand-to-hand combat just fine, but I'm not good enough to stand against a troll warrior."

"That's why this is a group fight." Fieran grinned, then slightly tipped his head toward the group of trolls, who were now pointing and snickering. "How many of those do you want to beat up? I think the rules allow up to a ten-on-ten fight."

Tiny grimaced, then mumbled, "There are five of them that have been targeting me specifically. Six, if you want to count the one who sometimes joins them."

"Five or six then." Fieran faced the crowd again, raising his voice. "My other allies will be Merrik Loiatir…"

Merrik sighed and pushed to his feet yet again, working his way down the stands. Something that seemed more difficult than it had a few minutes ago. With the lull in the fighting while this group fight was organized, many of those in the stands were taking a moment to get up, grab refreshments, or run to the nearest latrines.

Fieran swept a glance around the tiers of seats again, hoping to spot the ones he was looking for in the milling crowd.

There, sitting among a cluster of trolls and humans dressed in naval uniforms, he found who he was looking for.

Fieran's smirk had an edge. This was going to be fun. "And Rokyd, Lucien, and Sathrah Ardon."

His cousins grinned and shot to their feet, hurrying down the stands and into the arena to join Fieran and Tiny.

Lucien slammed his fists together. "Who do we need to beat up, cousin?"

"A bunch of trolls who have been harassing my friend, here." Fieran gestured to Tiny.

Sathrah cracked her knuckles, glee dancing in her eyes. "Ah, in that case, we'll gladly bust a few heads."

Rokyd slapped Tiny's back. "Tiny, isn't it? Who are we fighting?"

Tiny rattled off the names of the six trolls who had been harassing him for not being a true troll .

As the six trolls made their way from the stands, Rokyd, Lucien, and Sathrah picked out their weapons. Merrik selected the same shield and sword combo that Lt. Rothilion had used, a faint curl to his mouth showing how little he liked it.

"Um, I'm more a hand-to-hand combat person." Tiny flexed his fingers into fists. His arms and chest were as brawny as any troll, even if he stood over a foot shorter than the warriors coming toward them.

"Grab a large shield and maybe a war hammer." Fieran eyed the trolls, who shoved their way to the weapons racks to claim a collection of axes and huge swords. "Those trolls will hit harder than Merrik and I can take, so we'll need you to block their blows. We'll fight in threes. Rokyd, Lucien, and Sathrah will fight together, and Merrik, you, and I will fight as a team."

"Got it." Tiny selected a shield so large and heavy that Fieran would have struggled to hold it. But Tiny toted it like it was nothing.

The six of them lined up on one side of the arena. Tiny planted his shield while Fieran and Merrik stood behind him, ready to dart out in strikes. Beside them, Rokyd held a two-handed ax, standing in the fore. At his right, Lucien held a shield and a sword, prepared to use his shield to protect himself and Rokyd. To the left, Sathrah twirled a long halberd, the gleam to her eyes and the glint in her smile the scariest thing Fieran had seen all day.

The trolls who had been harassing Tiny leered at them. "Looks like the half-breed found a few friends."

"That's right." Rokyd swung his ax as easily as a child might a toy. "The half-breeds against the…" He finished with a crude and insulting word that Fieran guessed he'd le arned from his ma. His da—Uncle Julien—didn't often resort to harsher language.

One of the trolls in the back of the group frowned as he gestured at Rokyd. "You're not a half-breed."

"We were raised by a troll mother and a human father, so close enough." Rokyd grinned, a light in his eyes turning a touch feral as well.

Well, this should be interesting.

The troll warrior moderating the fights quickly went through the rules for a group battle. Once each contestant had yielded, they were to move to the side so they were out of the way, and they were not allowed to assist those still fighting. The team with the last warrior standing would be declared the overall winner.

As soon as the troll warrior dropped his hand, Fieran's cousins rushed forward, slicing into the cluster of troll warriors opposing them.

Two of the trolls managed to break away to attack Fieran, Merrik, and Tiny. As one of them swung his heavy ax, Tiny stepped forward and blocked the blow.

Fieran didn't even have to glance at Merrik. As if they'd rehearsed, Fieran went right while Merrik went left.

Time to take some names and kick some butt.

"Nothing worse than a bruise." Aunt Melantha gripped Fieran's chin, her fingers glowing faintly green as she tipped his face back and forth, inspecting his injury. "You were fortunate you did not lose any teeth or break your nose. It is generally considered unwise to take an ax, even a blunted one, to the face."

"I miscalculated his reach." Fieran winced. Talking hurt . One side of his jaw was so swollen he could see it when he looked down.

At least Tiny had done his job and stepped in while Fieran had been recovering his wits so he hadn't been forced to yield.

Instead, it was the six trolls who had yielded. Fieran couldn't even claim most of the credit for that, despite taking out one of them. His cousins were a terror when they fought together. But what else could one expect from someone raised by Uncle Julien and Aunt Vriska?

The healing magic seeping into him soothed the ache in his jaw, and Fieran finally felt like he could see straight. "Linshi, Aunt Melantha."

She shook her head, then moved on to inspecting Rokyd for bruises. She'd already healed the six trolls who had lost the fight. Their injuries had been more dire.

Farther up the stands, Tiny made his way back to his seat, but he kept being waylaid by troll warriors wanting to slap him on the back for his win.

As they made their way out of Aunt Melantha's box to return to their seats, Sathrah pounded Fieran's back hard enough to make him stumble forward. "Good fight. Invite us again if you need anyone else beaten up."

"Always." Fieran straightened, trying to pretend he wasn't trying to roll out his shoulders. At least Aunt Melantha's magic still coursing through him should take care of that bruise as well.

Lucien crossed his arms, making his biceps stand out. "The next time we're all in a fight together, it will be the Mongavarians we are giving a pounding."

"I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have there with me." Rokyd grinned, glancing around to include Lucien, Sathrah, Fieran, Merrik, and Fieran's flyboys a few rows up .

"Well, I don't know. I think I'd rather have Da and Ma here." Lucien smirked and punched Rokyd's arm before jabbing a thumb at Fieran. "And maybe Uncle Farrendel."

"Besides them." Rokyd punched Lucien right back.

Fieran nodded, a thickness in his throat that he had to swallow back. His dacha wasn't here. When the Mongavarians attacked, Fieran would be the only warrior with the magic of the ancient kings here to stop them.